


The End of a Song

by Quryuu



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-10-28 09:46:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10828749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quryuu/pseuds/Quryuu
Summary: Young Jon has had enough of the treatment from Catelyn. He is tired of being in pain. So he takes matters into his own hands.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sad story that popped in my head. I apologize now. However, it just felt like it needed to be written.

A small boy knelt in the fresh summer snow in front of the Heart Tree in the Gods Wood of Winterfell. His tiny head was bowed in prayer, his dark curls hiding his face. It was not an unusual sight as this same child had grown up worshiping the old gods as most Northerners did, however it was far later than usual for the boy to be there. Already night had descended upon the land, most of the people in the keep long retiring to their chambers. The few guards patrolling kept close to the lit bracers to ward off the chilled breeze. 

Though it was the height of summer, in the North the cold winds and snow still reigned. The people who lived in these lands would still have to don thick leathers or multiple layers to stay comfortable, and with the night they would often need to break out their lighter summer cloaks, unless one was a Southerner in which case a multitude of furs were needed to remain remotely warm. 

The boy did not wear any of these. Indeed, he was dressed in very light breeches and tunic, as if prepared for bed. He had even forgone shoes, which was not a wise thing for anyone to do, even if they had grown up in this harsh environment. Yet, the boy gave no indication of discomfort from the weather. Instead he focused on finishing his prayers. 

In truth Jon Snow didn’t even feel the cold. He didn’t feel much of anything; he was too numb. The past fortnight his father, Lord Stark had been away from the Keep, his brother Robb had gone with him as had Theon. He didn’t mind Theon being gone, having never liked the Iron Born, but he missed his brother. Well half-brother, as Lady Stark had it beaten into him time and again by the Septa. She made sure he knew his place, especially when father was away. The Septa took the Lady’s orders to ‘teach’ him heartily, her hand now very practiced with the lash and her words sharper than Valyrian steel. Her latest lesson peaked through his tunic, the bruises and cuts from the whip nearly glowing red against his pale skin. 

Jon didn’t know why he had to be punished in such a fashion, except for the fact he was a bastard. The one stain on his Lord father’s name. According to the Septa and Lady Stark he was a living sin, that had to be shown his place in life, which was far beneath anyone living in Winterfell. He’d tried asking his father once about his punishments, but he’d merely waved him away, stating Jon was punished the same as any of his children when he needed to be corrected. Jon didn’t think that was true, but he knew better than to argue with his father. No one else spoke out against Lady Stark’s treatment of him, so perhaps it was what he deserved. 

For ten years he had suffered under Lady Stark’s wrath at his presence. He hadn’t meant to be born. He hadn’t meant to insult her. He just wanted to live with his family, to be happy and to not hurt anymore.   
By the gods how he wished for it to stop hurting. His body, his mind and most especially the pain in his heart.   
He honestly thought it would never stop, but he had found a way. It had come unexpectedly as he was working in the stables. He’d overheard some of the servants talking about Old Connor, and how he was no longer in pain after passing on. They seemed sad their friend was gone, but happy that he was no longer in pain. Surely then he could do the same? Besides, it is not like many people would miss him. His father, Robb and Arya. Bran and Rickon were too young to remember him and everyone else preferred to ignore him, the stain on House Stark. While he didn’t like the thought of his family being sad, they would no doubt get over it soon enough. Lady Stark often commented how it would be better if he just died.   
He just wanted the pain to stop. 

Finishing the last of his prayers he sat back on his hunches, looking up into the face of the Gods Tree. The white bark nearly glowed in the light of the full moon, though the red leaves looked near black instead of the blood red he knew them to be. Carefully he placed a small rolled up parchment at the base of the tree with a single winter rose tucked into it. 

“I don’t know if you really do listen to the requests of bastards,” Jon whispered up to the tree. “But could you make sure my mother gets this? I hope she is not too angry with me for not trying harder to find out more about her, or to find her. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. I hope so. If she’s not, maybe you could help us meet in the afterlife? If I’m allowed there. I know bastards are not worthy of much in life, but maybe it’s different in death? Father said all men are equal in death, but I am not sure.” He stood then, reaching one small hand out to press the trunk of the tree one last time. “I’m sorry I stained the honor of House Stark. I tried to be good, to show I am not bad, not a sin. I guess I’m just not good enough. I’m just a burden. But I won’t be anymore. I even found a place out of the way so they won’t have to bury me… Not that they would, bastards don’t get buried with trueborns…” He trailed off slightly, small shoulders hunched as if the world sat upon them. “Please watch over them. I hope they find the happiness I denied them by being born.”

Having said his peace he moved away from the tree deeper into the Gods Wood. Slowly he made for a small alcove, long forgotten, deep into the ancient forest. It was small, with many over grown plants and a ring of trees around them. It sort of looked like a natural bed, and blue roses grew on the bushes nearby. He felt serene here, as if nothing could harm him. 

With a strange sense of calm he sat down in the middle of the tree circle, pulling out the dagger he had taken from the armory. It was an old one, still sharp but not really used so no one should miss it. Carefully he held it in his right hand, the point digging into his the crease of his elbow on his left arm. He knew the best way to cut to get the most blood. For a moment his hand hesitated, but the sharp twinge in his back helped to firm his resolve and he pushed the dagger into his tender flesh, before dragging it down his forearm as quick as possible.

Pain burst through him hot and fast, yet it was followed quickly by a feeling of reprieve he could not explain. His blood ran freely painting the ground and his clothing a deep red, which looked black in the dark. He tried to grip the dagger in his left hand to repeat the process but his fingers refused to move. It was okay though, he could already feel his life slipping away, his limbs heavy and cold. Laying back he let his grey eyes stare up through the opening in the canopy to see the bright stars shining far above in the sky, through the breaks in the clouds. Snow fell softly around him, as if to blanket him in his namesake. 

Part of Jon thought he should be afraid, should fight against the firm grip death now had on him. The rest of him, however, just felt so relieved. Already he could feel his heart beat stutter and slow to almost nothing. A small grin twisted on his young lips as he closed his eyes and breathed his last, finally free from the pain. 

Xxx

Only the Three-eyed Raven took note of the way the Gods Trees throughout the North hummed with sorrow and loss. Their tears fell in fresh rivers of red sap and a sense of defeat settled over the land. 

Those closest to nature, the Children of the Forest and the Giants shifted uncomfortably, but none could pinpoint the reason. They only knew a feeling of dread had planted itself deep in their hearts. 

At Castle Black the Wall groaned ominously, causing those Brothers on watch to fidget in trepidation. Once it stopped they brushed it off as nothing more than the ice settling. 

In the crypts of Winterfell the lone female statue had tears of blood dripping down the marble cheeks, weeping for the child she had left behind. 

Across the Narrow Sea two children woke with tears in their eyes. One was a small girl of ten, the other a young boy of eleven, neither knowing of the other. Yet their hearts ached with equal feelings of loss, as if a piece of their soul had vanished. 

In the far, far north, past the raging winds of ice and snow the Night’s King stirred, glowing blue eyes popping open as it acknowledged the shift in the air. A cold cruel smirk twisted its face. Settling back into his ice throne he closed his eyes in satisfaction, returning to his meditative state to gather his strength. 

Men had just lost this war, and they didn’t even know it.


	2. The Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So The first chapter ca totally stand alone. But I decided to go ahead with a Ned find's Jon's body. Please enjoy

Ned was confused and a bit hurt if he was being honest. When he’d come home with Robb and Theon he’d been welcomed by his family and the household. Everyone had appeared, except for his ‘bastard son’ Jon Snow. Robb had been put out that his brother and closest friend had not been there to greet them, but Theon suggested the other boy was sulking, having been jealous about not being able to travel with them. While his eldest had accepted the blithely spoken words, Ned had not. 

Jon never missed a chance to welcome him home, even if he had to stand back from the rest of the family because of Cat’s demands. In the past the boy would wait quietly until he’d said his hellos to all those gathered, then he would follow his ‘father’ to the stables where he’d finally hug him and welcome him back. It was a tradition of theirs that only the two shared. A tradition Jon never broke.

The Strange sense of foreboding he’d been experiencing for the past few days grew tenfold.

Sansa didn’t seem to notice the boy’s absence, already starting to follow every word her mother spoke, causing her to push her older brother aside, not even realizing the hurt she caused. Arya looked put out that she had been unable to find the boy, her one constant companion in all her shenanigans. Bran was still a bit young and got distracted easily and Rickon was just a babe. What truly bothered him was the look in Catelyn’s eyes when she thought he did not see. It was an almost triumphant gleam, as if she finally had everything she wanted.   
He loved his wife, truly he did. But if she harmed Jon in anyway she would not be spared his wrath. Yes, he knew claiming Jon as his bastard had hurt the woman, but he had Stark blood and Starks were raised in Winterfell regardless of birth status. It had been so for thousands of years, back to when the Starks were kings of this land. It would continue on well past his lifetime as well. In the North they took care of their own, they did not shunt them aside simply because they had the misfortune of being born to unwed parents. While many Southerner’s claimed they did such because of legitimacy issues, the North had a long practice of keeping detailed documents on who inherited and when. Therefore such arguments were moot.

When his wife tried to distract him from his attempt to speak to Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin about Jon, something in his gut twisted. The same feeling he got when Brandon stormed off to King’s Landing.

When he sent her away with a harsh look he could tell she was upset, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He knew the interaction confused the children and he would have to explain his actions later. Later, once he knew Jon was safe and well. 

“Ser Rodrik, Maester Luwin,” he addressed each man. “Though it appears all is well, I find I am missing a child. Where has Jon gotten off to?”

“We don’t know milord,” Rodrik spoke gruffly, never one to baulk from a hard conversation. “We haven’t seen the boy in a few days. We’ve tried getting a search party but Lady Stark refused to allow it, stating she would not waste resources on the boy. I have had a few men looking around in the Keep and asking around town. Even had a few of the hunters try to track outside, in case he went wandering. No one’s seen hide nor hair of the boy.”

“He attended his lessons for a few days after you left milord,” Luwin added, his voice calm and low. “But Lady Stark pulled him from them stating his time would be better spent working as was due his station. He had been helping in the stables and the kitchen, but then he didn’t show up a few mornings past. Nan is getting quite worried, as are a few of the other servants. The boy has never shirked his duties or disappeared in such a fashion. The maids say he has not been down to wash his linins either. One of them checked his room but it appears untouched.” The old Maester looked troubled, as if he wanted to add something but thought better of it.

“Just tell me Maester,” Ned pushed, not having the patience to wait. Already he was forming plans to have a search party formed.

“It’s just… Lady Stark and Septa Mordane have been more… pleased about something the past few days. And with the Lady refusing any searches…”  
Ned breathed harshly through his nose, trying to calm the temper that threatened to claw its way out. It took a lot to bring it forth, but harm done to a family member would be the surest way. While at one time he would have said his wife would never harm a child, as time went on her distaste for Jon seemed to grow and her actions with them, though nothing he had ever been able to see directly. Mostly she used words to cut the poor boy down, but there was little he could do against that aside from ordering her to leave the boy be, which he had done. Repeatedly. 

“Rodrik, get the hounds, see if they can track the boy. Maester, get word to the other servants, I want everyone searching to see if they can find anything about Jon’s whereabouts the past few days or what may have occurred the day before he went missing.”

He turned to look for the boy himself only to find his wife standing there, their children as well.

“Why are you wasting time looking for that bastard when you could be spending time with your trueborn children,” she grit out as primly as possible.

“I will spend time with ALL of my children once I know they are safe and well,” he responded coolly. “Jon is a member of MY family, whether you like it or not, and that I find he has been missing for days and YOU refused to allow others to search for him has left me greatly displeased.”

“Bastards are not family members,” she snapped back. “They are a sin against the gods…”

“Which gods? The Seven? Because in the north the Old Gods care not what your birth is,” he cut her off sharply. “Further I have read about your Seven, nowhere does it mention holding it against a child for their parents having them out of wedlock. The child cannot be held guilty for the parents’ actions. It is merely a notion created by Nobles to try and dissuade such children being born as well as keep the line of inheritance clear. Jon is of Stark blood. He shares the blood that flows through my veins and the veins of my children. That bond supersedes any such petty notions you have contrived about baseborn children.”

“Then why do your lords and ladies look down on me with pity when they come here and see that stain,” she bit out angrily, her cheeks flushed red. “Why do they look upon our true born children with questioning eyes, but not him?”

“I have told you before and I will tell you again,” Ned sighed tiredly, this fight having been one they had often. This was the first time they’d had it in the open though, with their children watching to boot. Each one hung on their words like spectators at a joust. He would normally try to take this to a more private setting, but this had been coming a long time and it seemed Catelyn had forgotten all sense of propriety. “The northern lords find YOUR southern tendencies to be off putting. They look at our children with question because they wonder if they will act like true northerners or like southerners who have looked down on our ways in the past. Our children will have to prove themselves to the North that they are northern and respect the old ways for them to be fully accepted. My bannermen WILL follow Robb as my heir because he is a Stark. However, even the most loyal man questions a lord that does not respect the traditions and religion of his people. I have already told you that Robb definitely, and likely all of our children will, need a northern match to keep our bannermen happy. It is the way it is done here.”

Catelyn scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Robb will need to marry a proper southern lady, and Sansa is meant to be the wife of a noble southern lord, not some northerner who would never allow her to follow the Seven.”

Ned raised a brow. Is this what she really thought of his people? The same people who fought and protected their family?

“I am one of those northerners,” he reminded her with an icy tone few had ever heard. From the corner of his eye he could see his children staring at their mother in disbelief, even little lady Sansa who followed her mother’s words like law.

“Yes, but you were properly educated in the Vale by Jon Arryn.” She went to say more but Ned had had enough.

“Hold your tongue woman,” he snapped. “Clearly you have not truly thought about the words you speak or the harm they cause. So I suggest you retire for the evening. Old Nan will care for the children.”

“I will not have…”

“You will do as I say,” Ned growled dangerously. “Already you have put harmful ideas into the heads of our children and I will not allow it to continue. Hand Rickon to Nan at take your leave, or I will have you escorted.” He turned to his children. “Robb help Nan look after your siblings until I come for you. I do not want Septa Mordane near them either for the time being. Am I understood?”

“Yes father,” Robb answered immediately, knowing his mother had gone too far. He knew she had some unkind thoughts about northern way of life, but what she just said… The disdain she held for the north. Robb just couldn’t understand it. Yes he was part southern and had learned the southern history and religion, but he was a Stark first and foremost. To have her insult the north in such a manner left him highly unsettled. Easily snatching Rickon from his mother he directed the others to follow along with him. Even Sansa, the daughter who adored southern ways and teachings knew her mother had stepped over a line. For she too was northern, even if it didn’t show as much as her siblings and such words had cut her to the quick.

Ned just watched as Catelyn huffed in anger and stomped away in that prime way of hers, that most southern women seem to master. Gods above, even Sansa was starting to pick up that habit. Hopefully it’d skip Arya completely. Of course his little she-wolf preferred more direct ways to express her displeasure, usually with her teeth.

Rubbing his face tiredly he pulled himself together to focus on finding Jon. He could deal with Catelyn and her foolish assumptions later.

“Milord,” Maester Luwin called to him. Ned moved to the other man, his hackles rising as he took in the worried look.

“What is it?”

“I had a servant go to Jon’s room to find the most recently worn piece of clothing to give the hounds a good scent,” he trailed off. Ned wondered why, it was a logical assumption, unless the boy had taken everything with him and ran? No, Jon wouldn’t do that. 

“And?”

“It’s… I don’t know how he got the injuries… he doesn’t come to me when he’s hurt,” the Maester babbled. “Lady Stark has often forbidden him from coming to me, or for me to treat him. Had I known…”

Ned frowned and looked to what Luwin held, finding one of Jon’s tunics, only it had blood soaked into the back of it. Ice shot through his veins as he took in the cloth, one trembling hand pulling it closer to examine it, taking in the stains, some clearly older than others. By the gods, what had caused this? Why did Jon not come to him or any of them for help? What kind of trouble was the boy in?

“We need to find him,” Ned whispered desperately. “We need to find him now.”  
The servants and guards kicked into high gear, Rodrik bringing the hounds to sniff at the cloth. Even the old warrior’s eyes widened at the sight of the old stains. The hounds began the hunt right away, following the strongest scent. Surprisingly it led them to the Sept.

Ned frowned as the dogs moved to one side of the Sept, the door leading to the back room. Why would the boy go there? He did not follow the Seven, had even confessed they scared him. Looking at his men he nodded directing them to open the door. The sight they came to left him near speechless.

“By the gods,” one man whispered, others cursing at the sight.

Inside the small antechamber that Septa Mordane used for her office they could clearly see a patch of blood on the floor. There were fresh and old stains, clearly whatever happened there had been occurring for a long time the way the blood had stained the stones. Ned had never entered here, none of his other servants had either to his knowledge. Only the Septa and his wife. Even his children stayed to the main worship room of the Sept.

“Find Mordane, lock her in her room,” Ned managed to hiss out. “I want a guard on her and one on Catelyn until Jon is found.”

He didn’t even have to look to know his orders were being followed. Taking a deep breath he moved into the room, praying he would not find what he suspected he would. Only he didn’t. Jon was not there and the room held no other hiding places.

“Take the dogs out, to the other side of the Keep. They might have better luck catching a fresher scent,” Rodrik ordered the men, glancing at his liege lord cautiously. He’d known Ned most of his life; seen the man through two wars and becoming Lord of the North unexpectedly. The man had already lost much of his family; he hoped he was not about to lose more. Especially not the boy that held such a special place in the man’s heart.  
Seeming to wake up again Ned turned to some of the guards lingering. “Search this office. Look for any documentation of what has occurred or any weapon that caused… this.”

They just exited the Sept when one of the younger guards came running.  
“Milord, the dogs caught a scent in the Gods Wood!”

Ned didn’t even wait for the man to finish before he sprinted towards the sanctuary. Over and over he begged the gods to let him find Jon safe and sound. He’d likely ground the boy till he became a man, but as long as he was alive and well Ned would be grateful. 

Maester Luwin was there already, standing by the Heart Tree, in his hands he held a scroll and a wilting winter rose.

“This was at the base of the tree where offerings are left milord,” the man informed him quietly, handing the still tied document to Ned.

He broke the small string holding the parchment closed and quickly scanned the words. His Face grew paler and paler, his whole body trembling with fear and grief.

No. No. Not Jon. Not Lyanna’s boy. God’s please no…

The hounds howled signaling they had found their quarry. Ned let the parchment drop out of his numb fingers running towards the sound of the dogs. Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik shared a look, the elder grabbing the parchment before both followed after their lord. 

No, please. Let it be a lie. Let him be fine. The words played over and over in his mind as he ran break neck to his destination, only to draw up short as he came upon the men. None of them could look him in the eyes; some even had tears. The dogs were being held back, but even they seemed to sense how terrible this event was and remained silent in their masters’ hold.

Ned moved forward mechanically, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. A lead weight had formed in his gut yet still he forced himself onwards. He had to see, he had to know for sure.

His breath stuttered sharply as his grey eyes found the still form of his nephew, the boy he had claimed and loved as his own son. His still body lay in the center of a clearing, completely surrounded by winter roses. If not for his bone white skin and the old blood staining the ground and snow around him Ned would think the boy was only sleeping, so peaceful did he look.

Had Jon ever worn a smile like that before? So simple yet content. It broke Ned’s heart.

Slowly he moved forward, the rest of the world falling away and he approached the still body. He crumpled to his knees in a daze, his shaking hands moving to caress Jon’s small face, pushing the limp curls away from his forehead. He moved his arms to pull the boy to him, holding his frozen form against him. He kissed the boys forehead, letting his own fall into the crook of the boy’s neck as the tears finally came and the pain broke free.

It started with a broken whimper, cresting into an anguished bellow that could be heard all throughout Winterfell and even in Wintertown. The quiet wolf howled long and hard for its lost pup.

XXX


End file.
